“No. Let me speak. I know you’re not exactly who you claim, Bronx. Not with shoeblack on your hair. And I understand it. Believe me. How detectives must operate in disguise sometimes. To keep their true self hidden while they pursue their prey.” Her eyes lit with excitement. “You pretend to work the cutline. You pretend to be a builder. But now, your colleague shows up. Who are you after? Or, is it not politic to reveal such information?
“Oh Bronx, I need honesty. Because...” She looked so far away at the fiery aspen he wondered if she’d ever again see his face. “Because Malina said...she’s seen you look at me with the same eyes Clemmons looks at her. Eyes of love and beauty. And she asked me straight on. Did I feel sparkles the first time I set eyes on you? Well, yes. Bronx. Yes, I did. In spite of my vows to Emmett. I must be honest with you about that. Yes, I loved our kisses. I think about them every second. But I can’t live with secrets anymore.”
Anymore? He wondered what she meant. Who had ruined her trust? Emmett? How could Bronx let her down, again? But he had to. She considered him a lawman in disguise, a man of truth and honor. And Bronx Sanderson was no such thing.
“Lila, I’m not what I seem.”
“I understand.”
“I mean. I am…an outlaw. A man wanted in two countries. The Pinkerton is after me.” He laid a finger on the lips she’d opened in protest, the rest of his words tumbling like the blue Athabasca over canyon boulders. “So now do you still admire how I look at you with love and beauty? Because…I do that. But I am an outlaw, nonetheless.”
She pushed his fingers away, but gentle. “What are you saying?”
He reached for her hand again, but she tucked it beneath her thigh so fast, so hard, his heart broke. But she was decent, God-fearing, the widow of a preacher man. He had known this would happen, her despising of the true man he was. He should not have stolen kisses and insulted her. He had promised his heart against falling in love.
But oh, those kisses had been worth the risk.
“I regret not telling you sooner. Who and what I am. For then, you would not have appreciated the light of love and beauty when I look at you.” Misery pounded his shoulders, and he turned the buggy around. The white spire of Annunciation backed by the pure white of Mount Massive assaulted his hopelessness even more.
Lila stared ahead at the steeple, but he could see from his eyes’ corner how her hands twisted together under the cover. Then, she looked up at him. “I think you should tell me now. Tell me the truth. I knew you held secrets, but I never imagined this.”
Chadwell whickered as Bronx slowed, as if giving permission. “I made the choice to steal horses. Shames me to my grave. But it was so easy. They trusted me so. And I was good to ’em. Respected them right back. And found other fellas like me.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen years old.”
Her forehead wrinkled, like she was reliving past words between them. She pulled her hand from the rug and laid it over his fingers on the reins. “Bronx, you were a child, still.”
“Big as a man.”
“Perhaps in body. But at heart, still a child. You had lost Miss Edith. Your brother had left you. Without guidance, such a choice would have been easy.”
“Still wrong. I knew better. From Miz Edith. I know better now. But, in some ways, you’re right. I had no one. Finding a gang to have me felt right on lonesome nights.” He sparked from her touch even though she meant it as pure comfort. Oh. He read more. Wanted more. But…
“So the Pinkerton is after you, an outlaw and a horse thief.” She used her schoolteacher tone.
No. That Bronx Sanderson was dead and gone, killed in a lucky jail break. Simon Creddit...Rebekah.
His brain danced with terror. His belly twisted with bile, the forgotten scent of blood burst in his nostrils again. His ears rang with gunshot. Rebekah’s screams, her white face. Her nightdress wearing pink flowers and drops of Simon’s blood...
Black spots on the door post—the bullets that had missed Bronx by mere inches. Although, his had hit pay dirt.
His breath ran away and he had a hard time finding it. “Not… not likely. Lila, I’m wanted for murder. But I am not a murderer.”
“What? Oh, Bronx.” Her voice rang with terror, too.
Shame flooded each word, along with sobs and an odd, choking sound broke from his gullet. Lila laid a cold hand on his cheek as he spit out his disgrace. How the jailer’s granny had so believed him innocent she had helped him escape. How he had killed Simon Creddit to save his own skin—and been on the run, ever since.
And he told her of Bronx Sanderson, both dead and reborn.
“Oh, Bronx.” Lila pulled him tight against her, with her heart pounding just as fast and hard as his.
Chapter Fourteen
“Oh, Bronx. This shall pass.” Lila dripped tears onto the top of his head, then blinked the rest away. She had been strong long before Emmett had insisted on it. “Oh, what decisions we make when we are young.”
For she’d been much the same age when she’d promised Emmett her life. Her words shook along with her heart, her hands. With a gentle push, she held Bronx back and smiled at him. Something about a man unafraid to weep in front of a woman touched her like nothing had before.